Sound the horn and stop the chaise!

Catherine Nicolette

'Sound the horn and stop the chaise.' I think of these words every time I find myself drawing to a stop at a tollgate ...

Born free
Dad didn't believe in paying tolls. 
An ardent Tramore Irishman to the core, he maintained stoutly that any free Irishman was born to live free. And that didn't include paying money at tollgates. 
We siblings sat and nodded dutifully as he waxed eloquent about the perils of Toll Payments, of course not understanding one syllable of what he was saying. 
But he, our Dad, was our ultimate Hero. 
So what Dad said, went without question.

Freedom
Mom and Dad had a trip planned across country. 
Dad was determined not to pay any tithes, so he went out and bought a National Roadmap Guide.
It took ages at night for him to plan an alternative route past the tollgates.
With us all watching, he carefully drew lines on the maps which diverted into byways every time we came within hailing distance of a toll.
So in the Spirit of Freedom we set out on our journey. 
And thus it was that elaborate detours through village areas and small dorps to bypass the tolls made a four hour journey into a ten hour marathon.
But Dad wasn't daunted. 
They weren't going to get an Irishman down by making him pay for what should be free - his right to travel the world. 
I wasn't too sure who 'they' were, but My Hero had Spoken, and I Was Behind Him.
Until we got lost.

Country Roads
The car was bumping over rutted country roads, it had started miserably drizzling, and Dad kept on stopping to peer at the map and try to look wise. 
We were, royally, lost.
At one stage we were going through a farmer's pastures.
Every time we came to a farm gate, I would get out, trudge to the gate, slip off the twisted wire gate handle - drag said gate open - try not to listen to the mooing of the cows in the pasture - wait for Dad to drive through - trudge back to close the gate.
Dad was giving me great encouragement by the eleventh gate, telling me sure what a great girl I was, and how he could depend on me.
Morosely I sat and stared out through the windscreen.
I Didn't Want To Be Depended On. 
I Didn't Want To Trudge Through Farm gates.
I wanted to go through a nice paid toll on a big road which went quickly home to a nice hot dinner.

Eleventh Gate
At the eleventh gate I got out. 
Inured to the routine, I didn't watch where I was going and sank ankle high into fresh farm manure.
There was no place to wash. 
I gloomily scraped the manure off with pieces of twig and veldgrass from the by now thoroughly damp siderows, before climbing back in The Bug.
We finished our journey in The Bug with my siblings hanging out of the windows to get as far away from me as possible, and Dad's cheeriness slightly dampened by his having to remain in the driver seat well within range of my malodorous footwear.
"At least we saved the money on the toll," Dad announced brightly as we came home. 

Heart Hammering
The last time Dad tried to evade the toll, we were hours behind schedule on a cross country trip.
Tired of our moaning in the back seat, he was going about 2 km over the speed limit on the completely open road with no traffic in sight either way, when a police car came out of nowhere.
Dad courteously drew to the side of the road, and I sat hunched in the back of the car, my heart hammering.
Were they going to arrest Dad? What was happening? I was terrified.
Dad was handed a little piece of paper, and we all finished the journey home very quietly. 
He had saved a few rand on the tolls, and paid about a hundred times that on the speeding fine.

The next time
The next time we went through the tolls . . .